


As Good as Home-Made

by Valeria2067



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valeria2067/pseuds/Valeria2067
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baking. Baking is boring. Unless John Watson is helping, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Good as Home-Made

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pati79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pati79/gifts).



John walked into the kitchen and dropped several grocery bags onto the table. “Clear off this mess, Sherlock. Right now. We’re going to do some baking.”

Sherlock didn’t bother to look up from his microscope. “No, John. I’m working. YOU may bake, but only if you do it on the other side of the kitchen and in complete silence.”

One second later, the slide underneath Sherlock’s microscope disappeared. “Don’t touch that! What are you doing?!” Sherlock looked up, furious, to see John holding the slide carefully between his index finger and thumb.

“Clear off this table, and you can have it back for later. Otherwise, it’s going in this bin liner with everything else that’s in my way.”

Sherlock stood up, set his teeth, and put a hand on his hip. “And does that category, Doctor Watson, include my person?”

John grinned. “It may or may not indeed include your lanky, obnoxious person, yes. Now. Which will it be?”

Sherlock’s eyes flitted up and down and across John’s body, assessing the strength of John’s compact form, the leverage required, and size of the bin liner in question. He squinted, worked his jaw back and forth, and then finally rolled his eyes. “Fine.” Sherlock picked up the microscope and moved it to the table near the sitting room window.

“Good choice,” John said, grinning, as Sherlock all but ripped the microscope slide out of his hand.

Both men proceeded to move lab equipment, specimens, chemicals, beakers, and flasks into the sitting room area.  John wiped down the surface of the table and did the same for the worktops.

“May I be so bold as to ask WHY the sudden interest in something as dull as baking?”

“It’s for Mrs. Hudson. She promised to bake biscuits for the benefit at the Children’s Hospital. The problem is, Sherlock, she’s down with the flu. And the benefit is tomorrow. Therefore, you and I are baking them for her.” John looked up, over his shoulder, and caught Sherlock’s eye with a forceful glare. “And we’re doing it RIGHT, and we’re making the cookies appropriate for children. Understood?”

“Oh, God.” Sherlock sighed. He turned and looked longingly at the microscope and other equipment before he relented. “Fine, then. Let’s start and get this over with as quickly as possible, shall we?”

“You’ll like cooking, Sherlock. It’s really just chemistry.”

“Thank you, John, yes. I’ve been told that. Many times. It didn’t work when I was five, and it hasn’t worked since then, either.  Where do I start with these biscuits, then?”

John handed over the recipe card. “Measure out the dry ingredients. I’ll get the butter and eggs ready. Oh, and the decorations. “ John set out some coloured sugar, and several tubes of icing.

Sherlock felt as though a weight had dropped onto his chest. “Icing as well? Lord.”

“Quiet, Ebenezer,” John warned.

When both sets of ingredients were ready, John brought his bowl over to Sherlock’s. “Here. We add yours in slowly, stirring as we go. Switch with me. I’ll add; you stir.”

Sherlock smirked. “Shouldn’t you stir? It’s a repetitive motion with your hand and wrist. I daresay you’ve the most practice.”

“Oi. Shut it,” John growled as he handed the large spoon to Sherlock and picked up the bowl of flour, sugar, and spices. “Right. Here’s the first bit. Gently, now.” John let a small avalanche of powder fall into and around Sherlock’s bowl.

“Wonderful, John. I can see you’re an expert. Good thing we didn’t just purchase some Christmas biscuits ready-made at the bakery, then.”

John moved closer to Sherlock, used one hand to hold the half-tipped bowl of flour, and placed his other hand around Sherlock’s hips. 

“YOU need to be still so I can concentrate.  You’re doing that hip waggle thing. Don’t.”

_Hip-waggle? Thing? What?_

 “John, I have no idea…”

“YES you do. You do it sometimes when you answer the phone. Makes you look like a cat about to pounce on a mouse. It’s distracting. So stop. Stay still as I do this.”

This time, the contents of John’s bowl slid perfectly into Sherlock’s. Only Sherlock was too distracted to stir. Better put, Sherlock felt a definite stirring, but it had nothing to do with the spoon in his hand.

“Sherlock? You need to do something. It’s going to get hard.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Hard, John? What’s….”

“The batter in your bowl. It’ll set if you don’t keep stirring.” John looked up into Sherlock’s half-closed eyes. “Sherlock? You all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, John.”  Sherlock shook his head slightly and began to stir. “Just bored, as you might expect.”

“Ah. Shall I sing you a Christmas carol, then? Get you more in the mood?”

 _In the mood?_  

Sherlock cleared his throat. “No, John. No singing.”

 

“Please yourself, then.”  John pulled Sherlock even closer as he tipped a bit more out of his own bowl and into Sherlock’s.

And then he began to hum.  He had a deep, almost-rumbling voice when he chose to hum.  And he was humming “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” now. And it was vibrating all through Sherlock’s torso.

And then it started vibrating lower in Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock dropped the spoon and stepped back from the table. His breath was coming faster, now, and he could feel heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Forgive me, John, but I can’t do this. My apologies to Mrs. Hudson and the Children’s Hospital. If you want them to have biscuits, then it’s best if you purchase them. I need to go.”

“Go? Sherlock, what are you on about? Why do you need to go? What’s happened?”

“I need to think. Please, step out of the way.” Sherlock tried to move past John but only succeeded in spilling John’s bowl of flour and sugar. The contents landed, as malign fate would have it, all over the front of Sherlock’s trousers. It rather nicely highlighted the area causing Sherlock’s concern.

John’s mouth opened to protest, but then it stopped. It formed a soft ‘O’ shape instead. Then John lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock’s. “You don’t need to feel ashamed, Sherlock. Please. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Sherlock looked away and closed his eyes.

 “In fact,” he heard John continue as John’s voice and body moved closer, “You don’t have to do anything… to yourself. I could help. If you like.”  John’s hand fell lightly on Sherlock’s hip.

A shiver ran through Sherlock’s entire body.

John’s body pressed against him. Just lightly, just enough to make contact. It moved a tad higher, as John apparently stood on tip-toe to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. “I would adore giving you pleasure, Sherlock. It would be the most fucking brilliant experience ever. Will you let me?”

Sherlock had to reach back and steady himself against the worktop.  His knees had decided to stop supporting very much of his weight. “John, I….”  He swallowed again. “Yes. Yes, please. Just do something soon. I can’t stand this right now.”

“Okay. It’s okay. Here. Lean against me for a minute. Like this.” John pulled Sherlock close and let him rest his head on John’s shoulder.

Bending down at that angle didn’t do much to help the dizziness, but the contact with John’s neck, and the sensation of John’s stubble against him made it worthwhile.

“I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall. Just relax, Sherlock” John’s hand moved up and down along Sherlock’s back, soothing, protecting, massaging.  John turned his head and placed soft kisses on Sherlock’s ear and jaw. Then John slid his other hand down Sherlock’s thigh and onto the hardness that was straining against Sherlock’s trousers.  He moved this hand gently, slowly, only increasing the firmness by small degrees.  He used his thumb to trace around the outline of the tip, the place that was now growing damp as Sherlock became more and more aroused.

“I’m going to put you in this chair, Sherlock,” John murmured into his ear, “And I’m going to hold your hips very tightly as I undo your zip with my teeth and draw you out with my mouth.”

Sherlock made a noise that was something between a moan and a whimper.

“And then I’m going to suck your gorgeous cock until I hear and feel you come harder than you’ve ever come in your life, Sherlock Holmes.  And I don’t care if all of Baker Street hears it. In fact, I hope they do.”

Sherlock fell into, more than sat down in, the kitchen chair, and it was indeed a good thing that John’s hands held his hips tightly in place. He didn’t trust himself not to slide down onto the floor like so much jelly.

John was as good as his word.  He was, in fact, even better than his word, despite the flour and sugar spread on the floor and on Sherlock. The white dust got everywhere, of course. Sherlock opened his eyes once, and he saw powder clinging to John’s cheeks and chin, the tip of his nose, even one of his eyebrows.  He thought it should make him laugh, but it only made him feel an incredible tenderness before his body swept his mind away again in inescapable pleasure. His brain could only process two things: pleasure and the name John.

“John!” he cried out at the brink of climax.

The hands on his hips pulled him closer, held him tighter. The mouth on his cock sucked even harder. The tongue moved even more wickedly.

“JOHN!!!”  Sherlock felt his entire being empty out of him. He was frozen, rigid, pushing himself further into that mouth, grasping hard at the short, sandy hair.

It seemed like ages before he could move or think.  It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, though.

_It couldn’t have been more than that, right?_

He looked down and saw John using a paper napkin from the counter to wipe Sherlock (and his own mouth) as clean as he could. 

There was still a bit of flour on the tip of John’s nose. Sherlock bent down, dizzy as he was, took John’s face into his hands, and he kissed the white powder away.

“Fancy a lie down?” John asked. “You look like you might need it.”

Sherlock smiled. “Only if you join me, Doctor Watson. I just might find myself in need of medical attention.”

Doctor John Hamish Watson, MD was happy to provide the attention. And he was happy to receive a bit of attention from the World’s Only Consulting Detective – a man who prided himself on attention to detail, as everyone well knows.

Several dozen of the local bakery’s finest treats found their way to the Children’s Hospital charity benefit.

The home-baked Christmas biscuits never did get made. But they eventually found several good uses for the icing.

Neither of them  ever looked at a gingerbread man or a candy cane the same way again.

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday fic for the lovely Pati79 on her birthday.
> 
> Thanks to my darling Leigh Ann for being my beta.


End file.
